To Save Yourself
by AlwaysRain
Summary: I dunno. e.e I had to. DO NOT JUDGE ME. /hides under blankets/ I just thought it was cute... And the rating is because England scares me. xD


(1775)

"How did this happen? Why did you turn against me, America?"  
He just stares at me, then averts his eyes. "I'm not a child anymore. You can't treat me like one." The rain drips off his shoulders, running in rivers through his hair. I watch him, my feet slipping slightly on the wet grass. He's got a new uniform, and I know it's because of me.  
"What, then? Do you intend to fight me for freedom, Alfred? You'll never win." I feel like I'm slapping him, my precious child, my Little Brother, but I can't stop the words, nor the scornful tone. "I'm the British Empire, America. You'll never win. You'll only end up killing yourself."  
He shakes his head. "I'm stronger than you think, Brother. I can-"  
"Win? You can win? Do you really think so? Think back, boy, back to when you were young. Was there any time I came home with more than a few cuts? Was there? No. And when I took you with me, were there any losses for Britain? No. I've killed before, and I don't have to hesitate to do it again."  
I draw my sword, pointing it at his chest. I finally see a satisfactory flicker of fear in his eyes. He knows he can't win against me.  
"I remember," he whispers eventually, staring straight at me with those captivating blue eyes. "I remember how you were, and I know how you are now. I've seen you kill, and I won't let you do it anymore! I'm leaving you! I will be independent. I will, because I'm not going to let myself end up a cold-blooded killer like the man who raised me."  
I laugh, patting his shoulder, where there's already a rip in the new uniform, blood soaking through from our quick scuffle earlier. I've not a scratch on me. I smile, lifting my hand away and studying the drop of blood on my thumb before licking it off my glove.  
"I might be a cold-blooded killer, but I'm still a gentleman. After all, I was never anything like that with you, was I? Enemies deserve to die, Alfred. You aren't my enemy. Not yet."  
Behind me, through the sound of the rain, I hear a quiet, frightened gasp. Alfred's eyes shoot away from me to a spot behind me, clouding over with confusion. I whirl around, but no one is there. I look back at my Brother. "Who was that?"  
"I- I don't know. I couldn't see them well. They ran away."  
"Fine, then. I'll put your little proposal out of mind for now, Alfred. But don't think I've forgotten. You are my Brother, and you will not be freed."

-

(1776)

It's raining again. Just like that day one year ago. It's been so rough lately. I can't keep my life together.  
"Hey, Britain, all I want is my freedom. I'm no longer a child, nor your Little Brother! From now on, consider me independent!"  
I catch my breath, staring at America. He means it. I guess I've known it all along, that what he said that day, he really meant, but I never accepted it. Now, I have no choice. It really is do or die in this world.  
I raise my bayonet, resting the tip on the heart of the country I've loved for so long.  
"WAIT! BROTHER, NO!"  
The sudden shout causes me to flinch, the sound of a young voice. A voice I know, but hasn't been young in so long. In front of me, America's eyes widen, astonished and confused. Just like that day, one year ago. I whip myself around, to finally see who it was that gasped that day in the rain.  
I drop my bayonet, pain immediately filling me. How? How did he get here?  
America is standing before me, hardly more than the infant he was when I found him. But- I turn back. There he is, almost full grown, in his war uniform, ready to claim independence. I look between them.  
"America… how did you get here?"  
The elder looks at me, obviously confused, but the younger sniffs and wipes his eyes, staring at me. "I- I don't know. I followed you out to the shed one day, and then you were threatening an older me. What's going on, Brother? Please, don't kill me."  
I drop to my knees in front of him, wondering how he could've gotten here still. The shed… the shed… I haven't used the shed in hundreds of years. Which means…  
"America, you've somehow managed to come into your own future. I believe."  
His lip trembles, eyes wide with fear. "Don't hurt me, Brother, please. I didn't mean to."  
"Why would I hurt you? I love you, America, I always have." I pause, looking up at the present-day America, tears in my eyes. I can't take back what I was about to do, but I can try. "And I always will."  
He sniffles, pulling away. "No! I've been following you, Brother, since I got lost and found you! For a year! You told the older me you were a killer! Don't hurt me, please!"  
I feel my heart drop like stone. "America, I'm not going to. I've changed. Surely you can see that, if you've been following me. You know I'd never hurt you."  
He shakes his head, pointing at the older him. "Not when I'm this little! But what about when I get older? I just stopped you from hurting me."  
I lower my eyes. I've not another choice. "Yes. I don't want to, I can assure you. Forgive me, my Brother, please. Both of you." I look up at both of them, pleading silently.  
The elder nods, silently dropping his musket. "I'm going home. I'm going to be free, Arthur. I will. But I'm going to do it safely this time, so neither of us is hurt. I've been a fool, and apparently only my younger self can tell me that."  
I swallow the lump in my throat, nodding once before looking back at younger America. "Please," I whisper, holding my arms out to him. "Please. You've done well, a good thing, America. You saved yourself, and you saved me. I can send you back home, back to the past, if you wish. But you must assure me you've forgiven me first. I need to know."  
He stares at me, clenching and unclenching his fists. Slowly, he nods, taking a step towards me before running forward and slamming himself into my arms.  
"I love you, England. Please be careful."


End file.
